


i’m not complainin’ that it’s rainin’ (i’m just saying that i like it a lot)

by talking_tina



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, Superpowers, Van Days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 19:23:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talking_tina/pseuds/talking_tina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So an insomniac with ESP, a cursed vegan with super-strength, a psychic pothead, and some guy in argyle got locked out of a van in the rain...</p>
            </blockquote>





	i’m not complainin’ that it’s rainin’ (i’m just saying that i like it a lot)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction using fictional characters based on the likenesses of real people. Never happened, and I do not own these names.

An insomniac with ESP, a cursed vegan with super-strength, a psychic pothead, and some guy in argyle got locked out of a van in the rain; It sounds like the beginning of a long, stupid joke, but it actually happened to Fall Out Boy on their first tour.

“This kind of sucks,” Andy said, kicking a pebble. It clacked against the pavement for a while and splashed into a puddle.

“That’s putting it mildly.” Patrick shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. “So…really no idea where we left the keys, huh, Joe?”

Joe screwed up his face for a moment. “Nope. They’re somewhere so stupid, even I can't track them down.” He glared at Pete, who grinned like the sun shone out his ass.

“On the bright side, that’s the longest thing you've said in maybe forever,” he pointed out. “I think I'm helping you grow as a person.”

“Yeah, I’m really coming out of my shell, man. Mainly to beat the shit out of you, but still.”

Andy broke in. “While Joe’s busting his all-seeing ass finding our keys, maybe we should find another way.”

“A roof would be nice,” Patrick agreed. “Maybe you could Hulk out on a door?”

“If we do that, the alarm will go off, the cops won’t believe us, and Patrick’s mom will bail us out of a cell that smells like my socks,” Joe said. “Then she’ll take Patrick home and threaten to dump us at the bottom of Lake Michigan if we come back.”

He shivered, as though to drive his point home, but actually because the rain had finally soaked through his boxers.

Patrick leaned against the side of the van. “I don't see you offering any answers. We’re kind of  _stuck in the fucking rain_ , and the best you can do--”

“Make that a thunderstorm,” Joe corrected, moments before a _boom_ cracked across the horizon.

Andy stared first at Joe and then at Pete. “And yet he can’t find our keys. That’s how bad you fucked up. Did you drop them out of the timestream or something?”

“Maybe one of his ghosty friends took them to the afterlife,” Patrick suggested.”As a souvenir.”

Pete scowled. “For your information, I haven’t had any ghosty friends around in a week. As far as I know.”

“There was that one dead chick who gave you a handjob three days ago. I’d call you on necrophilia, except I don’t think you even knew she croaked.”

Pete balked. “Dude! That’s fucking creepy, keep your omniscience out of my goddamn sex life.”

“Omniscience has nothing to do with it. You’re just really loud.”

Patrick tilted his head against the van and cackled. Andy smirked.

“Ha-fucking-ha,” Pete said. “For your information, I’m not the only one who gets ghost-laid around here. There’s a dude undoing Patrick’s belt now, why don’t we laugh at—”

“There’s a what?!” Patrick screamed, kicking out his leg. Off-balance and panicked, he tumbled through the side of the van.

Moments later,a small, panicked blur rolled out the back and ran to hide behind Andy. “Is he gone?” he squeaked.

“He was never there,” Pete said, sauntering over and climbing in. “But now the van’s open.”

Patrick scowled. “Mother _fucker_! Shit’s not cool.”

“It worked, though,” Andy said. “He gets points for that.”

He laughed at Patrick’s glare. “Oh, don’t be so uptight,” he declared, picking him up.

Patrick flailed a little and almost fell through his arms. “Dude! Warn a guy!”

“Sorry, bro.” No, he wasn’t. Picking up Patrick was one of the best things about touring with him, or being strong, or existing, really. He was warm and soft and portable, like a teddy bear, except one that wouldn’t shut up about Pete Wentz being a fucking douchenugget.

Andy tossed him over one shoulder and crawled in one of the side doors Pete unlocked. “Nice job, Wentz. Maybe you’re not a hopeless shithead after all.”

“I need to up my game, then,” he said, sitting in the backseat, legs sprawled across the nasty old upholstery. “Can’t have you guys liking me— oh, you have a Patrick! Gimme!”

Andy dumped Patrick in the back, and Pete wrapped his arms around him and hauled him in so he sat up between his legs.

“How are you so tiny? It’s wonderful. You’re wonderful. Stop wiggling, you little shit.”

Patrick stopped squirming and settled for pouting, because damn it, cuddling Pete meant sharing body heat, and Patrick was pretty fucking cold, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Too much.

Joe poked his head over the seat from the back of the van. “You two are so cute.”

Pete flashed a toothy grin. “We know. Get over here, you must be freezing.”

“No, no, I don’t want to interrupt the moment. This is when you two start to fall in love.”

Patrick turned beet red. Pete’s grin became a genuine smile. “Really?!”

“Yep.” Joe crawled over the seat’s back and sat opposite them. “You’re gonna fall head-over-heels and have lots of great sex, and then Pete, you’re gonna propose onstage in front of millions of screaming fans, and Patrick will cry a little bit, and you’ll have a spring wedding and Andy will be the bridesmaid, and—”

“Will we have kids?” Pete asked.

“Loads,” he said. “You’ll adopt a whole troop of them. Little ones from Cameroon and Thailand and other politically correct places, and you’ll name them pretentious things like January, or Bronx, or Blue like that Joni Mitchell song. Did I mention the sex? You’ll have lots of it. Loudly. Because, as we’ve established, Pete’s a screamer.”

Patrick groaned, rolled over, and buried his face in Pete’s chest. “Wentz, if you fall in love with me, I’ll send you to a doctor and get your head X-rayed.”

“No danger of that, my little lunchbox. I’m far more attracted to Joe here. Dashingly handsome, and witty to boot. We'd both need to shower more, though.”

Joe scooted closer and squirmed up next to Patrick between Pete’s legs.”We’d work it out somehow, honeybunch.”

Andy giggled from the front seat. “I feel left out. And very glad about it, too.”

Patrick reached out. “Don’t be too bummed. You can pick me up and tote me around while these two smooch.”

“Really?” He grabbed Patrick’s hand and looked at him with hopeful eyes.

“Yes, really. It’s kind of nice, being carted around like the goddamn Queen of Sheba.”

“You’ll regret saying so,” Andy warned, yawning.

Patrick yawned, too. “I know. But I don’t right now.”

“This moment is tender and all,” Pete said, “but someone is kind of crushing my balls, and it’s really cold, and we can’t turn on the heat without our keys.”

“Your point?” Joe asked.

“My point is that we should get up and find our keys. Or grab some blankets or towels or something. And one of you should get off my balls.”

So they all rolled off each other and began poking around under instruments and the countless other shit strewn in the back. Eventually, Joe had a vision, which meant going into a trance and murmuring riddles more cryptic than Pete’s stupid-ass lyrics. They knew to ignore him until he came up out of it and flat-out told them, “Check under Pete’s underwear.”

Sure enough, there they were, and since Pete was the only one brave enough to touch them anymore, he was wrangled into driving while Joe slouched in the passenger’s seat and Andy and Patrick cuddled up in the backseat, twitching and mumbling in their sleep.

Pete watched them in the rearview mirror. “They’re saccharine,” he observed. "Will they end up a thing?”

Joe pondered. “No, they'll both find their people. Andy’s just a cuddleslut.”

“Fuck, that’s gotta be his  _one_  vice. I need to remember that.”

“Wow, it’s almost like you don’t trust him or something.”

He laughed it off. “I don’t trust anyone with that fucking godly amount of self-control.”

“You don’t trust anyone who puts their hands on Patrick, man. It’s kind of obvious.”

Pete fell silent.

“You need to knock it off with this leader-of-the-pack, you-are-all-mine-to-protect thing you’ve got going,” Joe went on. “Seriously, it’ll be fine. We’ll never need a protector. You can just be your weirdo self, and we’ll all muddle through together. Okay?”

After a few moments of digestion, Pete nodded. “Okay, fair enough.”

Awkward silence. Then Pete said, “I…I just don’t wanna end up the only one that can see you guys. Y’know? I’ve had, like, nightmares about that shit. ‘Specially…well. ‘Specially about Patrick. He hits me right in the heart.”

Joe smirked. “We’re not going anywhere, bro. Especially not him, I promise you that. As far as I can see, we’re fine and happy and together, through everything. And you know I have a great view.”

Pete glanced in the mirror again, watched his friends nap peacefully in each other’s arms. Then he looked at Joe, all-knowing and still smiling, and settled on the flat road, stretching ahead out of sight, toward the next city, the next show, and then the one after that…

“You think  _your_  view is good, man. I have the best view of all.”

**Author's Note:**

> So Ann and I started talking about superpowers and I wanted fluff so she wrote me this in honor of the then upcoming Valentine’s Day. Pete can see dead dudes, Joe is psychic, Andy has super-strength, and Patrick has the unfortunate ability to fall through solid walls/floors when surprised/alarmed. Poor kid kinda gets the short end of the stick there, I know.


End file.
